


Unfinished Business

by masi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ushijima wasn’t planning on becoming a ghost or meeting Oikawa again after death. Now he needs to find a way to rest in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> My first and probably last fic about ghosts.
> 
> Warnings: both of the main characters die from accident-related injuries when they are in their 20s; there are brief descriptions of a funeral and burial process in the first section; the story contains a mixture of angst and fluff

Ushijima has lived a reasonably good life. He was at the top of his class always, won almost all of the volleyball matches he participated in, lived near his father after high school, graduated with distinction from Stanford, landed a job in a wilderness preservation agency, was training for the Olympics. At the beginning of June, on his mother’s request, he agreed to return to Miyagi and spend a few weeks with her. He would visit his relatives and celebrate Tanabata with them. However, while he did make it back to Miyagi, after only three days and an accident involving himself and a truck driver who couldn’t brake in time, his vacation was cut short. His physical body is now dressed up and tucked into a coffin while his soul (his essence? his mind, shaped as a ghostly version of himself the morning of the accident? he isn’t sure what he is anymore) lingers behind. 

The important thing, Ushijima reminds himself as he stands next to his body, is that he had a good life, and both his wake and the funeral ceremony are beautiful. 

All of his old friends from Shiratorizawa attend the funeral. Reon’s eyes are red, and Tendou’s face is ashen. Their former kouhai are here too. Shirabu goes through all of the motions, perfectly composed, until Tendou touches his shoulder, and then he bites his lip hard. Goshiki weeps while he offers incense. 

Many of Ushijima's former opponents are in attendance as well, to his surprise. During the final viewing, Hinata Shouyou places sunflowers around Ushijima’s head. That is, the Ushijima in the coffin. Hinata also tucks a miniature volleyball a bit further down. Kageyama hovers behind him, hands clenched. Oikawa is not there.

At the end of the funeral, Ushijima looks at his physical body one last time. He feels ... okay. He wouldn’t mind resting in peace forever. Not too much anyway. Besides, there is nothing he can do about it now. What has happened has happened. He has been given a new name. No turning back now.

He expects to vanish during the cremation, but aside from a slight tingling in his body, and the pockets of his shorts suddenly filling with wispy, gray versions of Hinata’s flowers and the mini volleyball, nothing changes. He is still there during the burial of his ashes and when the last mourners (his mother, and then his father) leave the Ushijima family grave. 

He wonders how it will end. Will the world dissolve around him, as it had momentarily after the accident? Will he find himself drifting towards a heavenly place where he will sleep forever? Or to a heavenly place where he can play volleyball forever? Will he find himself reincarnated as a new person, with new decisions to make and new people to meet?

He glances down at his hands and feet. His body is as light as air, and it is transparent and gray, and his heart has stopped weeks ago. The edges of his form are blurry. It will be alright. He waits patiently in front of his gravestone.

Many minutes later, he is still there. He had thought that he would know where to go by now, that there would be a tugging sensation inside him perhaps, directing the way, or maybe guides or signposts would emerge in a ghostly world that overlaps with this one. But there is nothing. 

The sun starts to set. He waits.

Night falls. He waits.

The sun rises again. 

He is starting to feel impatient. Maybe everything he has ever heard about death is incorrect, and this is it. No heaven or hell or reincarnation or sleeping forever in the earth or a slow vanishing into nothing, just people turning into ghosts and drifting aimlessly in the world of the living.

Or maybe, he realizes some time later – when another ghost floats out of the patch of trees at the far edges of the family grave, gathers energy around herself, and breaks a tree branch over the head of the elderly man who is coming to pay his respects – maybe he cannot rest in peace yet because he still has unfinished business.

***

The visitor is a distant relative of Ushijima’s. He is here for the other ghost. The ghost causes a great deal of ruckus while he cleans her grave. She breaks more branches and raises the dirt from around the gravestones and overturns all of his cleaning supplies. The man must be her brother, judging by the close facial resemblance and the oddly specific curses the ghost is hurling at him as she shouts about an inheritance and murder by negligence. 

After the visitor leaves, shaking, the seat of his pants wet, Ushijima drifts over to the ghost. He can’t remember when she died or who she is really, but he is grateful for her company. He has many questions. 

He asks, “Our ashes have been laid to rest, but why are we still here?” 

She replies, “Child, what gives you the impression that I have an answer for you? Do whatever you damn well please.” Then she fixes her hair, tucking all of the longs strands into an efficient bun, and floats back into the forest.

He is on his own again.

He waits in the graveyard for what may be a week, or more, or less, watching the ghost (“Miyuki,” her brother calls her), and withdrawing to the woods whenever his grandparents, mother, and friends visit. Time passes erratically. Slowly, in bursts, or with large gaps between one moment and the next. He knows that it is summer because of the weeds growing in the graveyard and the gleaming green foliage and the numerous insects singing in the night. 

When his living family members start to prepare for Obon, he decides that he can't wait around anymore. He needs to find a way to move on. 

***

He goes to check on the truck driver first. As he had thought, he doesn’t feel particularly vengeful when he steps into the man’s apartment. What happened was an accident, and the driver is being punished enough by guilt. 

Next, Ushijima visits Tendou, Reon, Goshiki, and Shirabu. They kept in touch with him after he moved to America and may still be harboring a strong attachment to him that is preventing him from moving on. However, when he checks in on them, he finds that they are coping well.

Although he misses his friends, he does not want to stay with them forever either, haunting them as they live their lives. Same for his friends and teammates in California. As for the setter he had slept with in his senior year, the one with the curly brown hair and a ready smile, that was a teammates-with-benefits arrangement.

After visiting his friends, he considers, for a moment, going to Tokyo and trying to find Oikawa. Then he disregards that idea. Oikawa could barely tolerate him when he was alive. There is no way Oikawa would want Ushijima to linger behind after death.

Then Ushijima decides to visit his parents. A few of the ghosts he has seen on his travels are currently haunting their childhood homes, either trying to get revenge on their parents, or trapped within the house, unable to leave because their parents are holding onto them too tightly, with a smothering sort of love. Maybe his unfinished business is with his parents as well. 

He visits his father first, after travelling on an airplane, squished in next to an exit door because there are no empty seats, and then he returns to his mother in Miyagi. Both parents are grieving in their own way. His father, openly, with friends and family, and at night when he passes by the closed bedroom door with the “Wakatoshi” nameplate. His mother, with a steely look in her eyes as she goes through the routines she has set up for herself since the divorce, as she converts his childhood bedroom into a guest room.

There is nothing he needs to do for either of them. They will always mourn him, but the grief will dull over time. He has said goodbye to them, softly, while they were sleeping, and he resolves to never return to either house again.

He returns to his grave. The Obon celebrations are over for this year in Miyagi, and his family will not visit as much. Maybe sleeping, or at least, trying to rest, will clear his head, and he will have all the answers he needs afterwards. He sits down in front of his gravestone and closes his eyes.

***

He sleeps on and off for a long time without any results, but one night, late in a summer, he awakens to the sound of a familiar voice. 

“How very like you, Ushiwaka-chan,” the voice is saying. “I’ve never seen a more boring ghost. Live a little. Oops, that was the wrong word, wasn’t it?” 

That voice sounds like it belongs to Oikawa Tooru. But that can’t be right. There is no way Oikawa is here. Oikawa is in Tokyo, training for the Olympics, winning matches, doing a Masters in Educational Psychology, and teaching kids how to play volleyball. Ushijima used to make time to read his blog, at least once a week. 

Clearly, Ushijima tells himself, he is now hearing things. Death can change a person. And he is seeing things too, because when he opens his eyes, he sees Oikawa right in front of him, as transparent as him.

“I found him wandering about town,” Miyuki says. She passes by them, an unlit pipe in her mouth. “He said that he knew you.” She disappears into the woods.

Oikawa looks almost the same as he did when they last saw each other. Not a day older. His face still young and smooth, his hair thick and as pretty as Ushijima remembers it. A tight feeling fills the space where Ushijima’s heart once used to beat. He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out.

“What?” Ghost Oikawa tilts his head. “Aren’t you going to tell me to stop calling you by that name. Ushiwaka-chan?”

Ushijima clears his throat, and then he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“A very good question.” Oikawa sighs. “I was a good person. I was nice to people, listened to my parents, didn’t send you any hate mail, helped Tobio become a better setter than me. And I still end up as a ghost, and stuck with you of all people.” 

“Oikawa …” Ushijima’s voice comes out shaky. He swallows and tries again. “Oikawa, believe me, this is not how I wanted to meet again either.”

Oikawa is eerily quiet. His glare is unnerving. Ushijima can’t quite meet his eye. He looks down at Oikawa’s clothes. Oikawa is wearing shorts and a t-shirt like Ushijima, along with the white brace he uses for his right knee in many of his matches. How horrible that Oikawa has died so young, that his once vibrant form has washed out into the same dull gray of Ushijima’s own. 

Ushijima tries not to remember what Oikawa had looked like on the court, his feet leaving the floor, his body moving towards the ball, his brown eyes bright, so full of life. The heavy sound of the heel of his hand hitting the ball. After each match, the warm hand pressing briefly against Ushijima’s. 

“Well,” Oikawa says finally. “Now that we’ve finished saying hello. How do I leave this place?”

Ushijima frowns. Oikawa has never needed him in the past. In fact, whenever he tried to give Oikawa helpful advice about how to cultivate his talents, Oikawa would always get annoyed. His face would go through a variety of strange expressions. Ushijima missed that, sometimes, when he was in America.

Oikawa’s face is a solemn mask at the moment. Ushijima asks, “How did you die?”

Oikawa blinks. Then his mouth twists a little, like he is trying not to laugh. “Ushiwaka-chan,” he says, “what an insensitive question! I guess some people just don’t change, even when they’re dead.”

“Fine,” Ushijima says. “I understand that you don’t want to talk about the cause of your death. But why have you turned into a ghost? Were you properly buried?”

“Oh yes.” Oikawa gives him a wide, fake smile. “The wake, funeral, and cremation were fantastic, thank you for asking.”

“When did you die?”

“After you did,” Oikawa replies. “Though it would’ve been more fitting for me to die first, since I’m older than you by about three weeks. And I didn’t die as heroically as you either. Can you believe someone wrote a five-page article about you? How you were perfect in everything you did, and how you nobly sacrificed yourself for a sweet little puppy and a child. The parents have donated tons of money in your name to charities for children and to the nearby pet shelters. Why are you always trying to beat me in everything? Not everything is a competition.” 

Ushijima wasn’t expecting to hear about the child and the dog ever again. He hadn’t thought to check up on them either. He had saved them because that is the only thing he could have done. 

The accident had happened on a bright, sunny morning. He was out jogging when he heard a man yelling, and then he saw them, a little girl walking into the path of an incoming truck, unaware, tugging at her puppy’s pink leash. He had thought he would have enough time to pull them back and get out of the way himself too, but he only had time to push them out of the way.

It is nice to hear that the child’s parents are donating to charities and pet shelters. Ushijima feels happier than he has in weeks. He says, “Oikawa, you asked me how you can leave this place. The truth is, I do not know. I have been trying to move on for … I am not certain how long, but something or someone is holding me back.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. He says, “Of course there’s something holding you back. You can’t move on because you still have regrets about how we were never on the same team, obviously. You’re still hungry for one of my perfect tosses, aren’t you? Maybe that’s why I’m here now. You’re the one holding me back! I think I hate you, Ushiwaka-chan.”

“No.” Ushijima frowns. “I do wish we could have been on the same team at least once, but none of that matters now.” 

Or does it? a small voice asks inside his head. He ignores it. He continues, “And I want you to know that I gave you advice because I was trying to help you. Isn’t that something you also used to do? You tried to help your teammates tap into their full potential.”

Oikawa crosses his arms. “I was more polite about it, unlike you. I didn’t say things like, _the path you chose was wrong_. But alright, since you seem to have no regrets, go ahead and tell me to move on. Tell me to rest in peace.” He spreads his arms, closes his eyes, and lifts his face to the sky.

Ushijima hesitates. There is a possibility that Oikawa will disappear after he says those words. They’ve only had a few minutes together. All of their meetings off of the court are so fleeting and unsatisfactory. 

His last meeting with Oikawa, in the summer of his senior year at Stanford, had felt brief too, just a few hours here and there over a period of three days. Oikawa was attending a volleyball convention in Palo Alto. On the first day, he came up to Ushijima during the buffet dinner and wouldn't talk to him after the first "hello." The next afternoon, after the day’s seminars were over, Ushijima went to the beach with his friends and Oikawa tagged along. But Oikawa did not join his team when they played beach volleyball, and he didn’t go swimming with them either. Then, the last day. A quick, infuriating, non-conversation in an empty hallway just outside of a restroom at the convention, Ushijima not understanding why Oikawa was so angry with him, and then Oikawa pushing him up against the wall, and kissing him, hard and searing, his fingers twisting in Ushijima’s shirt, trying to ask him for something and then not asking. Leaving. 

“Oikawa Tooru,” Ushijima says, “re-”

“Stop,” Oikawa says. 

His eyes are open again, panicked. He says, “Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not that I want to stay with you or anything like that, but I have other unfinished business too, and I don’t want to take the chances.”

“What do you need to take care of first?” Ushijima asks. “I will help you.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “In exchange for what?”

“Nothing.”

“Is this your way of apologizing for the past?”

“I told you, I was only trying to help. But I am sorry that I did not use better words.”

“No, not that.” Oikawa puts his hands on his hips. “There’s something else you need to be sorry for, but I’m not going to spell it out for you.” 

“Why?”

Oikawa floats out of the graveyard saying, “Anyway, who cares, none of it matters now, right? Let’s go. I really don’t have time to hang around.”

***

They pass through the fields of Miyagi as the sun rises. The rice in the paddies is growing, healthy and plentiful. The sky stretches above them, a myriad of blues blending harmoniously. The faces of the people are happy, sad, tired, anxious, angry, impassive, not recognizing them, looking right through them, looking past them, each and every one beautiful.

It is mid-morning by the time they reach Sendai City. The city is more difficult to navigate now that he is a ghost. Ushijima sees the date on a newspaper, and then he accidentally walks through a total of fifteen people. Each one of them shivers as he passes through and looks around with wild, haunted eyes. According to the paper, it is only August 5, still within the summer in which he died. Which means Oikawa died soon after he did, much sooner than Ushijima had thought. 

“Ushiwaka the Clumsy Ghost,” Oikawa says. 

Ushijima swallows. He breathes in and out before asking, “How much farther is your destination?”

“Keep walking, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa replies. “You’re losing your ridiculously broad shape.”

“Walking isn’t going to bring it back.”

“Walking and drinking water is the cure for all things, remember?” Oikawa laughs, short and bitter.

“This won’t last forever, Oikawa,” Ushijima says. “We will make it through this.”

“Confident to the point where it’s ridiculous as always.”

Around noon, Oikawa leads them into a public gymnasium. Ushijima isn’t too surprised when he sees what Oikawa’s first unfinished business is. Or rather, who.

Kageyama and Hinata are practicing their tosses inside this gym. Hinata and Kageyama, who had sprung from the concrete and soared to great heights. They must be on summer break now. Ushijima finds a place to stand, far away from them, and watches. Oikawa walks right into Kageyama, who yells loudly.

“Hm, do you think he can hear me?” Oikawa asks, putting his fingertips into Hinata’s hair.

Hinata jumps up about ten feet into the air and screams, “Who’s there?!”

“Leave them alone, Oikawa,” Ushijima says.

“No.” Oikawa sticks his tongue out.

“Stop messing around, dumbass!” Kageyama shouts at Hinata.

“Me?” Hinata shouts back. “You started it!” 

Oikawa overturns the cart of volleyballs near Kageyama. Ushijima wonders where he learned how to do that trick.

Kageyama and Hinata start arguing about whether or not there are ghosts in the gym and whether or not there really is any such thing as a ghost. The argument devolves into hair-pulling and name-calling. Ushijima takes out the mini volleyball Hinata has given him. It is as airless as the rest of him, and he is able to hold it in his hand. It feels like an eternity has passed since he last played volleyball.

“I can’t believe I lost to these two,” Oikawa says. “You lost to them too,” he adds quickly, glaring at Ushijima. “It wasn’t just me. Hey, what’s that in your hand?” 

Kageyama and Hinata are now holding onto each other, their faces terrified. Oikawa turns back to them, frowning. “Do you think they can hear what I’m saying?” he asks in a whisper. “Or does it sound like a bunch of noise? A buzz? Moaning?”

Ushijima tries not to remember what Oikawa sounds like when he’s moaning. He had heard a brief version of it while they were making out, right by his ear in fact. And that’s what he would hear in his head, for many days afterwards, whenever he got himself off. He remembers, even now, the hard edges of Oikawa’s shoulder blades pressing into his palms. He misses having a real body.

“Let’s experiment,” Oikawa mutters to himself. He drifts closer to Kageyama. “Hey Tobio-chan,” he says. “You still have a long ways to go before you can be like me.”

Kageyama frowns. He is standing with his back very straight now. His blue eyes dart around, while his ears move back a bit, like he is straining them to hear.

“You’re wasting their time,” Ushijima says. “They need to practice so that they can keep winning.”

Oikawa moves over to him, saying in a low voice, “How can you be so calm about this? Aren’t you angry that you can’t play volleyball again?”

“There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“Your birthday is coming up in a week. Doesn’t that make you feel fucking sad?”

Ushijima has seen this expression on Oikawa’s face during the conversation they had after Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno in their last year of high school, the wide, intense eyes and the barely contained rage, but he can’t remember hearing Oikawa use swear words before. He wonders when Oikawa died, before or after his own birthday. That would have been about fifteen days ago. 

He says, as gently as possible, “I can’t change the past, Oikawa. It’s better to not have any regrets. But yes, I would have liked to celebrate many more birthdays.”

Oikawa looks at him with something like pity now, before he says, “Birthdays aren’t as fun after you’re twenty anyway. Less presents and more lectures about how you’re letting your family and society down. Hey, I want Tobio-chan to see me. Do you think he’ll crap his pants?” 

He moves close to Kageyama again and breathes into his face. Kageyama passes a hand over his forehead. He looks ill. Ushijima remembers a younger Kageyama telling him, “I’ll definitely make you say that I’m even better than Oikawa!” But that unfulfilled promise is not holding Ushijima back either.

Oikawa closes his eyes and clasps his hands together.

After a few minutes, Ushijima feels an odd tension in the air. And then Oikawa’s form becomes more visible, his outline stronger, a hint of color returning to his skin. 

Kageyama’s mouth fall opens, and Hinata becomes very still. Oikawa beams. Then he says, “Keep practicing, you two.”

Almost automatically, Kageyama picks up the volleyball nearest to him and tosses it to Hinata. On autopilot, Hinata hits it over the net. It’s one of their famous freakish quicks. Ushijima tightens his fingers around the volleyball in his hand. That is what he wanted with Oikawa, that synchronization, that kind of partnership on the court. He wants it even now. 

As he is fading back to his colorless form, Oikawa says, “Take my place, Tobio. Achieve what I won’t be able to anymore.”

“Yes, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says.

“Say hi to Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says, and points to Ushijima.

Hinata turns. He looks straight at Ushijima. When Ushijima nods at him, Hinata smiles.

***

Over the next few weeks, Ushijima accompanies Oikawa on various trips around Miyagi. Traveling together is almost fun – he likes the company, likes listening to Oikawa’s pleasant, smooth voice – but once they reach their destination, he has to stand around and watch while Oikawa exacts petty acts of revenge on relatives and disliked former classmates. Sometimes Miyuki comes with them and teaches Oikawa how to better use his ghostly powers, such as, fading in and out around Oikawa’s scared nemeses, channeling energy to lift up objects such as trashcans and then dumping them over people’s heads, scrawling messages such as “I know what you did last summer” in the dirt or on windowpanes. 

“Let it go,” Ushijima says after a particularly tiresome night in which Oikawa’s current target – a guy who always asked unnecessary, pointless, nitpicky questions after Oikawa presented a paper to make himself look smart and Oikawa look stupid– had become so apologetic he pulled out a guitar out of a closet and started composing a song in Oikawa’s honor. 

“What?” Oikawa frowns. “It’s okay for people to write articles about you but not okay for people to write songs about me?” 

“There is an article about you.” Ushijima had seen the classmate flip through it while composing the song. “It talks about your achievements and includes photos.”

“It’s only four pages, and my face is blurry in every single photo.”

Ushijima sits down on his grave. It is morning, but the sun is hidden behind a blanket of rain clouds. Gigantic raindrops are dropping from the sky and sliding right through him and pooling on his gravestone. He is tired. He cannot remember feeling this exhausted before, even when he pushed his body to its limit on the court. He misses the everyday things he used to do: eating, drinking, taking showers, tending to his plants. All ghosts have left are their memories and emotions. This endless revisiting of memories and prolonging of a life that has passed is wearing him out. 

“Oikawa,” he says, “is there anything else you need to do besides these immature pranks? Finish it, and let me let you go.”

“Oh how the times have changed,” Oikawa says in a sing-song voice. “Now that I’m actually spending time you, you don’t want me anymore?”

“How did you die?” Ushijima asks.

“Tragically,” Oikawa replies. “Too soon. While looking at your back.”

Ushijima frowns. “My back? Why?”

“You were stepping into the light,” Oikawa continues, in a dreamy sort of tone, looking at the sky. “I told you to stop being an idiot and fly back to the world of the living with your gigantic eagle wings, and you wouldn’t. Then I followed you.”

Ushijima doesn’t have the energy to parse through what Oikawa is saying. It might be the truth, a real vision that Oikawa saw, or a metaphor, or nothing at all, empty words. He says, “You didn’t come to my funeral.”

“So?” Oikawa puts his hands on his hips. “You didn’t come to mine.”

“How-”

Miyuki shouts from the forest, “Goodness gracious, will this bickering never end? I thought I would have some peace and quiet after death because there aren’t any married couples haunting this graveyard, and then you two arrived!”

“Fine,” Oikawa says. “Hanging around with the Ushijima family after death isn’t my idea of a good time anyway. I’m going back to my grave. But you, Ushiwaka-chan, have to come with me to one more place. Meet me tonight at Old Man Haru’s restaurant, between the grocery shop and ice cream parlor about five kilometers from here, alright? Then you can say goodbye to me. Don’t be late.”

***

Ushijima arrives at the restaurant around dinnertime to find Oikawa hovering outside the door and looking upset.

“Miyuki-san told me to tell you that she is sorry and that you are welcome to stay with us forever,” Ushijima says.

“That’s sweet,” Oikawa says. “I’ll visit her again before I leave.” 

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Saying goodbye.”

Oikawa steps through the door, head held high, but then he pauses. He says over his shoulder, voice low, “By the way, I tried to go to your funeral. But I received the news late, and I couldn’t get there in time. I tried to visit your grave a few times after that, but I couldn’t.”

Before Ushijima can say anything, Oikawa turns around and goes farther into the restaurant. Ushijima follows. He almost steps right back out when he sees whom Oikawa is walking towards.

But he forces himself to stop, and he whispers, “Oikawa.”

“Hush,” Oikawa replies.

This is a bad idea, Ushijima knows as he watches Oikawa walk over to the corner table where Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa are seated. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were close in a way that Ushijima has never been with anyone. Part of the reason Oikawa chose not to attend Shiratorizawa was probably so that he and his best friend could continue to be on the same team for a while longer.

Iwaizumi looks like he has aged more than either Oikawa or Ushijima has. His eyes have sunk into his face, and he is much quieter than Matsukawa and Hanamaki, only grunting noncommittally when one of them asks him a question. His left hand is clenched on his knee.

Oikawa says into Ushijima’s ear, “Iwa-chan is finally socializing again! Oh, look, he’s wearing his shirt inside out again too. How many times have I told him….” 

He floats closer to his friends. He stares for a moment, his eyes keen with something like hunger, at Iwaizumi. Then he reaches out. His hand hovers over Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi lifts his head and looks around. His friends haven’t noticed yet. Suddenly, his eyes start to fill with tears.

Ushijima holds his breath. Oikawa, now saying, “No, no, no, that’s not what I wanted,” tries to put his hand on Iwaizumi’s back. It goes through.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, pulling his hand back, “Iwa-chan, please forgive me.”

Iwaizumi pulls his shirt up a bit and wipes his eyes quickly. His friends are staring at him now, both of them somber. Matsukawa begins, “Hey-”

“It’s nothing,” Iwaizumi says.

“That’s right,” Oikawa says, tone soothing. “You’ll be alright, Iwa-chan. You have to be, for the both of us. Take care, my friend.”

Iwaizumi stares directly into the space where Oikawa is standing. His fingers unclench slowly over his knee. “Yeah,” he says, soft, a breath of a word.

Oikawa tries to smile. He looks around at all of his friends. Then he faces the door of the restaurant, jaw set, chin lifted. “Let’s go,” he says to Ushijima.

***

Oikawa says to Miyuki, “I wish I could stay longer and help you dump trash on your brother the next time he visits.”

“Thank you, child,” she says. “But I think that I too will be moving on.” She pats Oikawa on the head. “Take care. Thank you for being a companion to my kin.” She nods at Ushijima. “He was moping around before you arrived.”

“I was not,” Ushijima says, but neither of them pays any attention to him. 

After the goodbyes, Oikawa leads him across town to his family’s graveyard, and then to his gravestone. It is as large and sturdy as Ushijima’s, but newer, the stone almost shining in the moonlight. Oikawa sits down on it and says, “I guess this is goodbye.”

Ushijima hovers near him, hesitating. Usually, he does not scare easily. Fear can be a useless emotion, a barrier on the path to achieving one’s goals and bettering oneself. But now, now he is frightened of what will happen, of the possibility that when he says the words, Oikawa will leave him behind, or that he will leave Oikawa behind. 

“We can do this tomorrow,” he says. “You’ve had a trying night.”

“Better to get it all done at once, right?” Oikawa says.

Ushijima puts his hands in his pockets. His fingers close around the volleyball and the sunflowers. He asks, “Have you brought anything along with you?”

Oikawa reaches into the pockets of his shorts and pulls out an identical volleyball, a miniature crown, a toy alien, and a cell phone. He drops the crown. As it is falling to the ground, it vanishes. He spins the volleyball on his finger for a moment before returning it, along with the alien, to his pocket. Then he holds the phone up to his ear. He says, “Who should I call first, Ushiwaka-chan?”

Ushijima remembers his first volleyball tournament in his first year of university, winning the Most Valuable Player award and missing Oikawa, the familiar glare aimed at his back, the curl of Oikawa’s mouth when they looked at each other during these events, the promise in Oikawa’s lovely, warm brown eyes that this wasn’t the end, _wait for me Ushiwaka-chan_. He had regretted it then, leaving Japan, not going to the same university as Oikawa. But then he saw his father waving to him in the crowd and cheering loudly. There would be other opportunities, he told himself. After university. Perhaps the Olympics.

But there weren’t, there is only this, now, the two of them surrounded by gravestones in a silent graveyard. Gray and transparent shapes, the summer air passing through them. Neither here nor there.

Ushijima begins, “Rest-”

“Ask me how I died,” Oikawa says. He tosses his phone aside and stands up. 

“How did you die?” Ushijima asks.

“I used to coach a group of junior high kids in the evenings.” Oikawa touches the back of his head. “On July 24, after work, I was walking down these long flight of stairs.” He gestures with his hands, a wide expanse between them to indicate the steps. “A group of kids were pushing past me, and one of them knocked into me. An accident. I fell and hit my head. That’s all it took.”

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima says.

Oikawa has not visited any of those students. Of course. Oikawa’s heart is always in the right place. He has always been more bark than bite. Gaudy, excessive, immature, insincere, sincere, hardworking, loyal, caring. 

“I am too,” Oikawa says, but there is an odd look in his eyes, like he is apologizing for something else entirely.

After a moment, he adds, “Anyway, I told you, it wasn’t all bad. As I was lying there on the pavement, I saw you in stepping into a bright light, and then I wasn’t thinking about the pain in my body or my lost future or my family and friends, because I was angry and trying to call you back.”

“Why were you angry?”

Oikawa moves closer. He reaches out and rests a hand on Ushijima’s cheek. His hand is as cold as an ice cube, but it does not phase through.

He says, “You packed your bags and moved as soon as high school was over, even though you were supposed to stay here and remind me about my worthless pride at least once every year. You forgot about me, and then you left me behind. That, Ushijima, is what you need to be sorry for.”

It takes Ushijima some time to process this, the fact that Oikawa actually had feelings for him. Still has. Oikawa is the one who is holding him back, he knows now. It doesn’t matter whether or not he tells Oikawa to rest in peace. He is relieved by this fact.

Oikawa has not moved his hand. It does not feel any warmer against Ushijima’s face. Ushijima puts a hand over Oikawa’s.

“I didn’t forget about you,” he says. “I think … I think I have liked you for a long time.”

“That’s not what it looked like when we last saw each other.” Oikawa looks off into the distance. “You didn’t notice that I was there until I said hello. At the buffet, remember?”

“There were many people in the room.”

“That’s not a good excuse.”

Ushijima slides his fingers into the spaces between Oikawa’s fingers. He says, “I used to read your blog. I wanted to meet you again at the next Olympics.” 

He considers for a moment before adding, “I won’t leave you behind anymore.” 

It’s not right to say this, because he is not sure that he will be able to follow through on this promise. But he has a feeling that it is something Oikawa wants to hear. And he will try his best to keep that promise. He regrets that he didn’t try harder for the two of them to be together when they were alive.

Oikawa looks at him now. “Go on,” he says.

“What else is there to say?”

“Hm. How about you tell me who you would rather kiss again, me or someone else?”

“You.” 

“Good,” Oikawa says.

He rises up on his toes, rests his hands on Ushijima’s shoulders, and kisses him. 

It’s only a ghost of a kiss, cold and airy, but Ushijima feels a small spark of energy run from Oikawa’s mouth all the way through to his own body. It’s more than he had thought they could do. He kisses Oikawa again and hopes that Oikawa will never let him go.

A few seconds later, he begins to feel lighter than he has since he died. He glances at his hands. The tips of his fingers are disappearing.

Oikawa tries to hold onto him. He is starting to vanish too, the ends of his hair, the outer edges of his body. “It will be alright,” Ushijima says. 

"Alright," Oikawa says. He exhales. “See you later, Ushiwaka-chan.” 

Oikawa doesn’t let go until his hands have completely disappeared, and he doesn't move away, and Ushijima knows that Oikawa will stay with him until there is nothing left of either of them.

***

Wakatoshi is a little bit scared before his first official volleyball match. He isn’t sure why. He’s been playing volleyball since he learned how to throw a ball, and he has practiced properly with his team all month. He’s ready.

His team is going to be playing against a nearby elementary school that has a really good setter. That setter’s in sixth grade, like him, and captain too. Wakatoshi is also captain, but he’s a wing spiker.

He looks at that team from time to time while they’re warming up. They look like they can beat anyone. But it doesn’t matter. Wakatoshi plans to win today.

Before the match starts, his coach reminds him that he has to shake hands with the other captain. Wakatoshi feels nervous again. He wipes his hands over his shorts.

The captain is already waiting next to the referee when Wakatoshi walks over to the net. Wakatoshi looks at the boy. He feels weird suddenly, like there's something squeezing his chest.

The boy’s large brown eyes widen. He seems to be trying to remember something. 

Wakatoshi is also trying to remember. The boy is familiar in a way he can’t understand. It feels like he has known him before, but he can’t remember from where or how or what is name is even.

Then the boy holds out a hand. “Hi!” he says, smiling, loud and bright. 

He continues to smile as he says, “I’m going to crush you today. You’d better be prepared, Ushiwaka-chan.”

Then he frowns. “Wait,” he says. “Why did I say that? Is your name Ushiwaka?”

Wakatoshi remembers now. The graveyard. A life that was, in retrospect, missing something at its center. An older Oikawa Tooru, whom he had loved for too short a time.

“It was,” he says. He takes Oikawa’s hand in his own. “Let’s have a good match, Oikawa.”


End file.
